“OK,” I laugh. “Let me check on my pies first.” I walk to the oven and peak inside. I inhale the sweet cherry and butter aroma. Yum.
I get Mom, and we go into the dining room to wait for Popster in his booth. “Any idea what he wants to talk about?” I ask her.
“None, but hey, get this. I came up with a new diet idea.”
“Oh boy, I can’t wait to hear this one.” Mom has a history of diet pills, diuretics, and slapping her own hand if she reaches for the breadbasket at a restaurant.
“It’s a good one. Ready?” She nudges my foot under the table.
“Uh, sure.”
She leans forward, her eyes glittering with promise. “When I’m hungry, but I don’t want to eat because I haven’t gone long enough between meals…” she pauses for effect and raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah?” I drawl.
“I put on tight clothes! Appetite curbed!”
I snort. “Hilarious, Mom.”
“No, I’m serious. It works!” she exclaims, and that’s when Popster joins us. “What works? The sink? I know… I fixed it.”
“No, Mom’s new diet idea,” I tell him, and he waves his hand, dismissing Mom’s latest way to lose weight.
“Clearly, we have more important things to talk about, seeing as you called a family meeting. What’s up, Popster?” I say and smile, hoping everything is OK.
“Weeeeeeell,” Popster draws the word out, his blue eyes twinkling even more than usual. “I have hatched a brilliant plan, and I’m finally ready to tell you both about it.” Mom and I look at each other. We’re intrigued.
He leans under the table and pulls out a bag. He reaches into the bag and reveals a bottle of champagne and three plastic champagne flutes.
“What are you up to, Dad?” Mom says, and she turns to face him, squinting skeptically. For my mom to be as clueless as I am right now makes this extra intriguing.
He claps his hands together and rubs them fiercely like he’s warming them up. “I have big news, my favorite ladies.”
“We know, Dad. You already said that. So, what is it?” Mom asks.
“I am formally investing in The-Rose-Hotel-turned-The-Rose-Bed-and-Breakfast.” He grabs one more thing out of the bag. It’s a check, and he slides it across the table to me.
My eyebrows furrow, and I look down at the check, wondering, for the first time, if I need glasses because… I think it reads $300,000. Made out to me.
Mom gasps, and I stare at Popster. “B… but how?” I stutter. “Why? Where did you get this money?!”
“That, my precious, is where my brilliant plan comes into play,” he replies, and his eyes take on a glow like blue morpho butterflies.
My heart pounds with conflicting fear and amazement, because this is too good to be true!
He shrugs, trying to calm my anxiety, and says, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but it makes perfect sense. I sold my house.”
“You did what?!” Mom screeches. “You sold your house?!”
Mom freaking out is now making me freak out, so I jump in. “Popster, are you OK? What is going on? Is this a joke?” I think back to the year he became obsessed with pranks and practical jokes, from palm buzzers, to that damn whoopee cushion. It was a long year, and swear jars filled quickly.
He gestures for us to settle down. “Ladies. I am perfectly sane, and I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions,” he says and gives Mom a glance before continuing. “As you might recall, I thought about selling my house last year.”
“Yeah?” Mom and I say in unison, both of us still not believing our ears.
“Well, I found a buyer.” He says, matter-of-factly. “You know how people are always coming in here, talking to me. Well, the house is too big for me, and I spend all my time here with you two, anyway.” He leans his elbows on the table and articulates, “I want Aspen to get her hotel, and I want to be a part of it.”
My eyes wet and my throat swells. I choke out the words in a whisper, “Popster, what are you doing?”
“So! I sold my house. I pocketed some money, and the rest is there. I’m loaning it to you. And here’s the deal. You don’t have to pay all of it back, because I want to live at The Rose! You know I love nothing more than talking with people, and I can see myself now welcoming all the guests coming through, telling tall tales to them. I’ll meet and greet them. Be like a concierge, too. And! I’ll be your handyman and gardener!” He finishes his speech and looks up and off to the side, swiping his arm in a big gesture, like it’s a big idea.
And it actually is.
Huge, in fact. And brilliant.
My eyes go wide, and I look at Mom, and her eyes are enormous, too. “Mom?” I ask.
She bites her lower lip, and her eyebrows knit together. “Well, I don’t know what to say.” She turns to Popster, at a loss for words as she scrunches her face a little, processing the information. I sit up straighter in my booth and look at her expectantly, letting the idea take root in my brain, until it swells and lights up like a million shooting stars.
“Well,” she continues, “it sounds like an amazing idea. And yeah, it’d be great to have someone there all the time that we know and trust. I mean, you’re the eyes, ears and social backbone of this place, Dad. You’d be perfect there, too!”
I draw in a deep breath. “Popster, are you sure you want to do this?”
“Does a cat have an ass?” he quips one of his favorite lines. I never really understood it, but it means yes.
And I let my smile grow as big as the sun. “You’re right, it’s brilliant! I love it more than anything.” I reach across the table and grab his hands. “You were right, Popster, something better did come along. You!” My voice breaks, and
